


put my shoes on and run away (you still show up in a dream)

by maraudeer



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Soulmate AU, discussions of Jack's overdose, kent gets therapy before he gets his happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:42:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27466612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraudeer/pseuds/maraudeer
Summary: The first time Kent dreams with his soulmate, he can’t see his face.
Relationships: Alexei "Tater" Mashkov/Kent "Parse" Parson
Comments: 21
Kudos: 146





	put my shoes on and run away (you still show up in a dream)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from IN A DREAM by Troye Sivan. 
> 
> I went a little overboard with the amount of Russian spoken in this fic, but all the translations can be found in the end notes.
> 
> This fic is heavily inspired by a Game of Thrones fic that I can’t find anymore. If anyone knows it, please let me know!
> 
> CW: discussions of Jack's overdose

The first time Kent dreams with his soulmate, he can’t see his face.

He can’t see his face, but the guy has dark hair, broad shoulders, and a hockey stick in his hand. So Kent releases some of the tension in his chest because it’s Jack. 

Of course it’s Jack. 

He can’t see his face, but it has to be Jack. They’ve hooked up like three times since joining the Q together. Yes, they were all quickies after practice. And, yes, Jack won’t talk to him about it, but who else could this tall, dark haired  _ hockey player  _ be?

So Kent smiles and moves forward, “I knew it man—”

“Что вы говорите?”

Kent falters. 

Because that is not Jack’s monotone English or his lyrical French that Kent can’t understand. 

Kent takes a closer look at the guy. Those shoulders are too broad, waist not as narrow. The guy’s hair is lighter than Jack’s and a little floppier, too. 

“Shit.”

“Вы недовольны?”

“What—I don’t—”

Kent squints in the hope that the guy’s face will come into focus, but it gets more blurry, so that he can only vaguely confirm that his soulmate does have two eyes and a nose and a mouth. 

Kent’s chest feels tight again, worse than at the start of their dream.

There’s no roadmap to this.

You’re supposed to be able to see your soulmate in your dreams, face and all. You’re supposed to be able to  _ talk to them.  _ But Kent can’t see him and he doesn’t know what he’s fucking saying. 

“Я тебя не вижу,” the guy takes a step forward and Kent immediately takes a step back.

“Fuck, I don’t—Why is this happening?”

“Простите, что не так?”

Kent can’t seem to breathe right. 

How does he wake up from this? This isn’t a real soulmate dream, just some kind of twisted thing he’s created for himself. Because Jack has to be his soulmate. Sure, Jack can be frustrating as hell sometimes, but at least they speak the same language. At least Kent  _ knows  _ him.

“Okay, okay,” Kent says. “I’m just going to wake up.”

It doesn’t work. The guy is still standing there, still with his hockey stick.

This is a real soulmate dream. Kent isn’t in some strange nightmare. They’re dreaming this together.

The guy switches his hockey stick from one hand to the other, like a nervous tick.

Hockey.

The dream immediately shifts around them so that they’re in a rink, skates laced on their feet. 

He has no idea which one of them made the change. 

Kent has a stick now and a puck, too, so he tosses it onto the ice and then they’re playing. One on one, no talking except for the occasional exclamation when one of them makes a particularly impressive goal. 

He feels himself relax, the way hockey always makes him feel. He’s so at ease that he expects to be able to see the guy’s face by the end of the dream. He probably just couldn’t see him at first because he was nervous.

But the guy’s face stays blurry.

They play hockey all night and when Kent wakes up, he knows something is starting.

…

In the waking world, Kent’s life goes on like normal. He plays hockey with Jack, like really fucking good hockey. 

Everyone knows Jack and Kent are going to be drafted. One and two, they’re saying, and Kent knows he should maybe be jealous or offended that everyone’s saying he’ll be second. But it’s hard to feel any of that when his life increasingly revolves around Jack. 

Hockey with Jack. Partying with Jack. Telling Jack to take it easy when he drinks too much. But Jack never listens, and when Jack kisses him all he can seem to think about is the feeling of his touch. 

He wants Jack to be his soulmate. He wants it to be Jack so fucking bad. Because Jack is the first person—the only person really—who seems to  _ want  _ Kent even if these days it’s only when Jack isn’t sober.

The guy in his dreams is nice, though.

At least he thinks he’s nice. It’s a little hard to tell when they can’t actually speak much to each other, but it  _ seemed _ nice when, in their second time dreaming together, the guy had said in shaky, nervous English, “Glad to meeting you.”

And then the guy had let out a little laugh, “Am not good trying English.”

“No, no that’s—” Kent swallowed. “That’s really good.”

And then they played hockey the rest of the dream without a word.

Kent expects the guy to stop showing up to their dreams. It’s not like soulmates  _ have  _ to dream with each other every night, but the guy shows up every night anyway. Each time with a new English phrase. 

“Favorite color is red,” the guy says, touching his hands to his chest, after scoring the last point of the night.

“Oh,” Kent says, a little out of breath. “Blue. I really love blue.”

And, yeah, it makes Kent feel like shit because he hasn’t made any effort to learn this guy’s language. He’s so busy in real life with hockey and Jack,  _ worrying  _ about Jack, that he hasn’t had time to learn anything.

His soulmate probably thinks Kent’s the worst. 

His soulmate probably is going to stop showing up.

Which, actually, would really suck because Kent likes their dreams. Even if he’s not really bringing much to the table other than hockey.

…

Shit, of course, hits the fan days before the draft.

Jack overdoses and Kent is the one to find him in the bathroom. He doesn’t sleep for two days, hoping someone will let him see Jack. Until Bob finally sits next to him in the waiting room and squeezes his shoulder.

“You should go home, Kenny. Tomorrow’s a big day for you.”

Kent’s hands can’t stop shaking. “I just—is he okay?”

“He’s going to be okay,” Bob says. “It just needs to be family right now, Kent. And I want you to stay focused.”

_ Focused _ . 

Kent can’t imagine focusing on anything ever again.

But he also can take a fucking hint, so he leaves and the next day after four hours of dreamless sleep, he is the first round draft pick for the Aces. 

His sister, Annie, squeezes his hand. “We’re all so proud of you, Kent.”

It should be the best day of his life.

…

Kent tries to relax in the hotel room in Vegas. It’s his first night here in the city. Tomorrow he goes to the rink and will get to meet the whole team, and he isn’t nervous about any of it. If he keeps telling himself this, it might just become true. 

Jack still won’t reply to any of his texts.

When he finally falls asleep, he is at the rink again. The guy skates over to him, spraying up ice.

“Think you not coming now, любовь.”

Kent still can’t see his face.

“Why the fuck can’t I see you?” he asks. “Why can’t I fucking see you face?”

“I’m not—talking slower please?”

“Why the fuck—” and then Kent is sobbing.

“Oh, no, not sad. Please—” 

The guy moves closer to Kent, dropping his stick and moving like he’s going to  _ touch  _ Kent. And this is too much. 

Kent has just lost his— _ not his boyfriend _ , as Jack had told him, bitingly, a day before the overdose—but he’s just lost  _ someone important _ . And he’s in a new fucking city that he never expected to have to go anywhere near more than a couple times a year. And now he’s yelling at his maybe soulmate and his soulmate is still—

He jerks out of the dream.

He’s alone again.

…

Kent’s hands shake as he stands with the other rookies on the edge of the ice. This is stupid, he tries to tell himself. The team’s captain, Smitty, picked up Kent earlier this morning and took him to the rink, telling him how excited they were for him to be on the team.

And Kent knows this has to be true; you don’t go first round in the draft because everyone thinks you’re going to fail.

But his hands can’t stop shaking. 

Another rookie bumps his shoulder. He has these soft brown eyes, a little bruised below them like he slept terribly the night before, which Kent definitely finds relatable. 

He smiles nervously, “You are Kent,” he says and then gestures to himself. “Am Alexei. Is nice to meet.”

Kent smiles at him and hopes he doesn’t look too relieved that someone is finally talking to him. “Nice to meet you, too, man.”

He extends his hand out, and they shake in that bro-y way.

He doesn’t remember Alexei from the draft, but he tries not to feel too bad about it. 

Soon, coach divides them, and they run a drill. And Kent finally feels himself relaxing as he drives the puck to the goal. It’s fun again, for a short time, as he passes to Alexei. 

Later, in the locker room, after most of them have left and Smitty and another guy wait outside to take Kent and a couple other rookies out to eat, Kent nudges Alexei’s arm. “You did really good. Thank you.”

“Why thank?” Alexei asks.

And Kent’s face immediately burns red because that was a really weird thing to say to Alexei. He’s not even sure he knows why he said it.

“Just—” he takes a deep breath, like that might explain to Alexei what he means.

“Good, yes?” Alexei says, putting out his fist.

“Yes,” Kent says, bumping his fist. “Good.”

…

The team calls Kent “Parse” and they call Alexei “Tater.” But Tater calls Kent “Kenny” and Kent ignores the way this always reminds him of Jack.

Tater isn’t much like Jack at all beside this one nickname thing. 

In fact, other than hockey, Tater couldn’t be more different. He is loose and outgoing even despite the language barrier and new environment. He cares about hockey, but it isn’t obsessive. To Tater, hockey equals joy. It’s never a burden.

The rest of the team must pick up on this, too, because it’s obvious that everyone really likes Tater. 

Kent isn’t sure if the team actually likes him, but they at least seem to appreciate him as they head into the season. So Kent might not be their first pick and he might not be as lovable as Tater, but at least he knows where he stands with them.

Keep his head down. Score goals. Mind his business.

He doesn’t dream with his soulmate for months.

…

They’re fucking destroyed by the Los Angeles Kings early in the season. A shutout, 4-0. Kent had a couple of opportunities but couldn’t make anything happen. He knows it’s not his fault. He knows this is a team sport, but the problem with hanging around Jack for as long as he did is that he started to believe he has to earn his existence every fucking second.

So Kent is not doing well after this loss, objectively. 

He sits by himself on the bus on the way back to the hotel, hat low over his face, and everyone either is respecting his space or doesn’t want anything to do with him. 

He gets a text from Jack’s dad telling him not to beat himself up over the loss, which only makes him feel worse. They’ve exchanged a few texts over the past couple months but never anything with real substance.

Bob probably thinks he’s doing Kent a favor.

Kent wants to scream. 

Tater nudges his shoulder, and Kent snaps out of it. Almost everyone is off the bus now except Smitty who stands at the door looking worried and Tater, who still hovers over Kent.

“Time to go, Kenny.”

Kent and Tater share a hotel room tonight, but they don’t talk much as they get ready for bed. Tater showers again despite already taking one at the rink, but Kent just changes into sweats and climbs into the bed nearest the window. 

He scrolls on his phone, noting all that the internet has to say about the loss. The TV plays game highlights.

When Tater comes out of the bathroom, his hair is still damp. He looks just as tired as the day Kent first met him. He takes one look at the screen and then Kent on the bed and makes a strangled sound. 

“I’m turn off TV.”

“Whatever,” Kent says flipping onto his side, so he doesn’t have to see Tater’s disappointed face. He knows he probably is coming across as an asshole, and it only adds to the reasons why Kent is angry with himself.

Tater sighs and shuts off the lights.

They’re quiet for so long Kent thinks Tater must have fallen asleep. Even Kent is almost asleep, which is quite the feat considering he’s slept so poorly the past several months. 

But then Tater says to the emptiness of the room, “Mess up very badly tonight. Think maybe team—you—upset with me.”

And that has Kent wide awake, he sits up in bed. “What are you talking about, man? You played your fucking heart out tonight.”

“I don’t know—”

“No, man seriously, I’m not mad at you, nobody is mad at you for the way you played.”

There’s another brief quiet and then, “I’m knowing this already.”

“Okay,” Kent says. “Good. Then, go to sleep.”

“I’m knowing this already,” Tater repeats. “But not sure you be knowing this. For yourself.”

Kent’s whole body tenses. Because he gets it now. It would be ridiculous to think that anyone would be mad at Tater for one bad game, but it’s still hard to believe that’s true for Kent, too.

“Kenny,” he hears Tater shift, so that he’s facing Kent. “I’m not mad. No one mad.”

Kent bites the inside of his cheek. He just wants what he feels to be easy for once.

“Thanks,” he manages to get out. “Go to sleep.”

He lays back down and turns away from Tater.

…

When he finally falls asleep, he dreams with his soulmate again. They’re back at the rink. 

He’s honestly shocked is the thing. The last time they dreamed together, it ended with Kent screaming at him. He didn’t expect for his soulmate to show up ever again.

Kent still can’t see his face.

His soulmate speaks first, “Ah, so excited to finally be seeing you.”

He skates forward, and somehow Kent can tell he’s nervous. “I’m think maybe—”

And Kent knows what he’s going to say next. He’s going to say maybe they should stop with the dreams. Maybe they should just pretend like none of this ever happened. Forget that they’re soulmates.

“Look, man, I get it,” Kent says, and he feels frantic. “I fucked up last time. I was just freaking out because I can’t see your face and I was upset about...some other stuff, but I promise I won’t yell at you like that again. I—”

He grips his hockey stick tighter. He didn’t realize until right now how badly he doesn’t want this to end. Even if it’s unconventional and not how soul dreaming is supposed to go  _ at all.  _ It’s supposed to be like dating, except more magical because anything you can imagine can happen. 

He’s about to speak again when his soulmate says, “You promise?”

“Huh?”

“You promise? No more yelling.”

_ Oh. _

“No more yelling.”

“No more sad?”

“I—”

He wants to say yes because he thinks if he doesn’t maybe his soulmate will leave their dream and never come back. Maybe what his soulmate wants is just a really happy person.

“Is okay,” his soulmate says before Kent can lie. “Am not always happy. Can be sad sometimes. Just—don’t leave?”

“I won’t leave again. Or—” he had to be honest. “I’ll always come back. I promise.”

They’re quiet for what could have been several seconds or maybe several hours. It is hard to tell in their dream world, but by the end of it they are smiling.

For what feels like the first time since Jack’s overdose, he is smiling. It is real.

His soulmate’s shoulders slump, and Kent’s first thought is that he’s done something wrong. But then his soulmate says, “You still can’t see my face?”

“No,” Kent says, and then it dawns on him. “Wait, can you see  _ me _ ?”

If this guy knows anything about hockey, which is a pretty good fucking bet, then he might recognize Kent. That would not be good. Not at all. For a number of reasons that Kent can’t even begin to name now.

“No, no,” his soulmate says, shaking his head. “Wish, but no.”

“Oh, okay,” Kent’s eager to change the subject. “Well,” he waves a puck that has just appeared in his hand. “Wanna play.”

His soulmate sighs, and Kent tries not to read anything into it. “Sure, let’s play.”

…

Kent wakes up smiling. 

For once, he didn’t drag his bad mood from last night into the morning. He and his soulmate had played hockey all night, and something had changed since the last time Kent saw him because his English was even better. They’d actually been able to hold a real conversation.

Kent stretches in his bed, his smile still on his face, and turns to see Tater still in his bed. He’s also smiling, his goofy, lopsided one.

“Morning,” Kent says.

“No more sad?” Tater asks. 

Kent laughs, “Nah, sorry I was so moody last night. I take losses really hard.”

“Is okay,” Tater says.

They both get dressed together in quiet, but it isn’t the heavy kind that filled their hotel room last night. Kent stuffs his things back into his bag and then goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Tater is finishing up himself as Kent comes into the room.

“What is soulmate like?”

It’s such a non-sequitur that he actually knocks over his tooth paste. 

“Oh,” Kent says.

“You do have soulmate?” Tater asks.

Kent looks down at his toothbrush in his hand. He could lie. It’s a little uncommon for someone his age to not be dreaming with his soulmate yet but not unheard of. But it’s abnormal enough, and he doesn’t really want any reason to stick out when it comes to soulmates.

“Yeah, yeah, I do.”

“What they like?”

Kent rubs a thumb against the bristles of his toothbrush, “Oh, um—”

How does he begin to explain his soulmate when he can’t even see him? 

But maybe it’s better this way. If he starts describing how his soulmate looks, Tater will probably be able to figure out quickly that he’s not talking about a woman.

“Um, they’re kind. Forgiving,” another smile lifts onto his face though he tries to keep it away, thinking of when his soulmate dramatically rolled around on the ice after scoring a point. “Ridiculous.”

He looks back at Tater, “What about yours?”

Tater sets down his own toothbrush and looks at him. 

“Beautiful,” he says.

…

Another dream several weeks later. They still play hockey, and Kent still can’t see his soulmate’s face.

“Is weird, da? That not calling you anything?” His soulmate asks, running a hand through his sweaty hair. 

“Oh, maybe a little,” Kent says, nudging the puck forward. 

“Call me Alyosha,” his soulmate touches his chest. “Friends, family—they call me Alyosha. Nickname.”

“Okay,” Kent says.

“Say.”

“What?”

“You practice. Say my name.”

Kent stumbles over the name, not used to those syllables side by side. 

Alyosha laughs. “Try again.”

“Alyosha.”

“Better,” Kent can’t see his smile, but he hears it. 

“What I call you?” Alyosha asks.

Kent shrugs. He should just think of a name or another lie, but he can’t seem to think fast enough. 

“Not want to tell?” Alyosha asks.

Kent scoots the puck a little further ahead and Alyosha takes it. 

“No, it’s just—” he doesn’t know why he’s so scared. This is his soulmate. If there’s one person in the world he can trust with his name, it should be Alyosha. “I just think we should wait to give our real names until we can see each other’s faces.”

Alyosha’s shoulders slump. 

“You’re mad.”

“Not mad. Just can’t keep calling you—how you say—‘short guy’ in head.”

Kent shoves him, “Shut up, dude. I’m not that short.”

It occurs to Kent that this is the first time he’s really touched his soulmate. It’s just a light push, but he finds he wants to touch him again. 

“Call you something. For right now.”

“Okay, deal,” Kent tells him.

Alyosha rubs the blur of his chin as if sizing Kent up. “Call you солнце.”

“What does it mean?”

Alyosha begins to skate backwards away from him. “That’s a secret I’ll never tell.”

“Is that a  _ Gossip Girl  _ reference? Who  _ are you _ ?”

“Already told you,” Kent hears his smile again. “Alyosha.”

…

“Hey,” Kent asks the next time him and Alexei are alone together in the locker room. “Do you think you could teach me some Russian?”

Technically he could ask any of the Russian guys on their team, but he’s closest with Tater and it’s a lot less humiliating to struggle speaking Russian with a guy who is still learning English than someone who has been speaking English for ten years.

“Already know Russian, hear you speak angry during game,” Tater says while pulling on his sweatshirt.

“That doesn’t count. Those are just swear words I’ve picked up from you guys.”

“Know hockey words,” Tater counters.

Kent was not expecting this much resistance.

“Forget it,” he shoves his workout clothes into his bag.

He feels the brush of Tater’s fingers against the back of his neck, right where his skin meets his shirt. He tries very hard not to show how much this affects him. 

“Why you wanting know Russian?”

Kent shrugs. “I know I’m not smart enough to really learn it—”

Alyosha must be really smart to pick up so much English so quickly. (Tater, too, for that matter.) And hardworking. His soulmate is smart and hardworking, and Kent is starting to worry again that he isn’t bringing much to the relationship.

“But just a few phrases. Something more than Блядь.”

“I teach, Kenny. What you wanting to know?” Tater is smiling, now.

Kent has to look away from him. Tater’s smile does weird things to him; it’s something akin to the feeling of scoring a goal in a close game. He’s not sure he likes it.

“Anything you’ll teach me.”

…

“я скучал по тебе,” Kent says as soon as their dream together begins.

Alyosha says, “I missed you, too, Солнце.”

Kent hears his smile.

…

Kent doesn’t dream much with his soulmate in the weeks of the Stanley Cup finals. He tells Alyosha it’s because he’s so busy with work, and he needs to get the kind of rest that people can only get when they dream on their own. 

Alyosha tells him it’s alright and that he’ll see him soon. They still can’t see each other’s faces, but Kent is beginning to be okay with it. He doesn’t need to see Alyosha to know that he likes him. He likes him a lot. 

He’s funny in a sort of unexpected way. And he’s patient, too. Not that he’s interested in comparing Alyosha to Jack, but Jack was  _ never _ patient. Kent is trying to be okay with this and failing, mostly, but in any case Alyosha is patient.

So, Kent misses Alyosha during the Stanley Cup finals, but he knows it’s worth it when he raises the cup over his head, Smitty and Tater right beside him. 

They’ve won. They really did it. They really won the Stanley Cup in his first year in the league. 

He goes out with the team and afterwards he finds himself in a booth across from Tater. Almost everyone else has gone home.

Tater says, “This year, very hard, being so alone. No family. Only hockey. Glad we win.”

It shocks Kent to realize that this is not something Tater does often. Tater is their go to happy teammate. He rarely talks about the things that make him sad.

“You’ve been so brave this year. To come here. To play. To learn English,” Kent peels off a bit of his beer bottle label. “I don’t think I could do any of that the way you have.”

Tater shakes his head, “Sometimes I’m think all I feel is scared.”

And Kent feels like crying or maybe laughing. If only Tater had thought to say this to him months ago. For so long he’s felt like he’s been on his own island, unable to tell anyone how fucking afraid he is all the time. But here’s Alexei Mashkov, someone who Kent had thought couldn’t be touched by any of this fear.

It seems silly to think now.

So maybe it’s this revelation or the thrill of winning or the right mix of alcohol, but whatever it is, it makes Kent speak—

“My soulmate is a man,” Kent catches Tater’s eye and looks away again. “I’m scared all the time, too.”

Tater doesn’t say anything at first, and Kent thinks he’s made a huge mistake. He thinks he maybe just ruined the rest of his career. Tomorrow he’ll wake up and there won’t even be a career for him to have.

But then Tater speaks, “Good reason feel afraid. But I’ve got your back.”

The relief Kent feels is almost euphoric. 

“I’ve got your back, too. Hey, next season if you’re missing home just say the world and I’ll whip up some blinis.”

Tater laughs, “Would love to see you try.”

They leave soon after this, and as they step outside the bar, Kent asks, “What are you going to do now?”

And Tater says, “Going to go dream. See soulmate.”

Right. Because Tater has some beautiful soulmate to occupy his dreams. 

“You going to go dream?” Tater asks.

“Yeah, yeah. I better get home.”

Tater’s fingers brush the inside of Kent’s wrist. “My soulmate always make me feel less scared.”

Kent smiles, but it makes him feel a little sad, for some reason, to hear Tater talk about his soulmate. “Mine too.”

…

Kent and Alyosha spend all summer dreaming together. It’s at the rink every time, but they don’t always play hockey. Sometimes they just sit together, legs tangled. It’s easier now that he’s talked to Tater about his soulmate, like now that someone knows about Alyosha Kent can actually commit to him.

Kent still can’t see Alyosha’s face, but it’s the best summer he’s had in a long time.

As he goes into his second season with the Aces, he starts actually feeling like just maybe it’s okay to be optimistic about the future. He’s still scared and still trying to untangle the overdose aftermath, but he’s hopeful now. More than he was a year ago.

Which, of course, is when something goes wrong.

It happens early in the season. They’re in a hotel room in Minnesota, and Tater steps out to take a call. When he returns he looks more solemn than Kent has ever seen him.

Kent scoots to the edge of the bed. “Everything okay?”

“I’m leave. Get traded to Falconers.”

“Oh,” Kent grips the sheets of his bed. “Oh—”

He can’t think of what else to say.

Because the thing is Tater has sort of become his best friend on the team. He hangs out with everyone, but he only spends time one on one with Tater. And Tater is the only person on the team who knows about Kent’s soulmate. And, more than that, Alexei is easy to talk to.

“Oh, well, our team’s lost a good player in you,” Kent finally says.

Tater looks disappointed, but Kent doesn’t know what he wants him to say. It’s not like Kent can tell him what he actually wants to say. He wants to tell him  _ Don’t go. Please don’t go _ . 

But he can’t tell Tater that so what’s the point. 

“я буду скучать по тебе.”

“Yeah,” Kent looks away. “Yeah, I will too.”

…

Kent is relieved when, the day after Tater leaves, he falls asleep and isn’t back in the rink with Alyosha. He knows he’s been a bit of a buzzkill lately, still sad about Tater, and so he thinks it’s probably right that he doesn’t subject Alyosha to that.

But this dream is still strange. He’s in the hotel from the other night only when Tater comes back into the room, Kent hears himself say, “Come here.”

Tater comes to him at once, and Kent drags him closer, clutching at his t-shirt until Tater is all the way over Kent on the bed. Kent holds Tater’s face in his hands. He has such a remarkable face. It’s soft, smooth. Big brown eyes searching Kent’s. 

Kent rubs his thumb along Tater’s jaw. Tater closes his eyes at the feeling, for just a moment.

And then they are kissing. 

Tater’s got one hand under Kent’s t-shirt, flat against his stomach, but the other has come up to touch his chin. It’s slow, almost lazy if it wasn’t for the way Kent could feel all the attention Tater was putting into it.

Kent isn’t used to this kind of kissing. 

They break away, and Kent kisses Tater’s cheek, his other cheek, his chin, his ear, anywhere he can reach. He is something akin to delirious. 

“I love your stupid face,” he says because, fuck it, he’ll never be able to tell Tater this in real life. Kent has his own soulmate and so does Tater and Tater is across the country now and their friendship is probably going to crash and burn because of it. 

Kent’s letting himself have this.

Tater nuzzles into Kent’s neck, and it feels so good. 

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” he touches the back of Tater’s neck, where his hair meets his skin. “I didn’t want you to go. I should have told you.”

“I know, Kenny. I know.”

He’s crying. He doesn’t know when he started. 

“Jesus fuck,” he says, wiping his face. “Even in my sex  _ dreams  _ I manage to fuck things up.”

“Is okay,” Tater says. “Nothing messed up.”

Kent laughs. “Okay, okay.”

He kisses Tater again, and from there, they’re falling.

...

The following night Kent is back at the rink with his soulmate.

“I’m so happy to see you, Солнце.”

Kent smiles and tries not to feel bad for his sexy dream about Tater last night.

“Yeah, sorry, I couldn’t make it last night, man.”

Alyosha falters as he skates over to him.

“Oh, yes, you gone last night.”

“I’ve just been feeling down and didn’t want to bother you with that,” Kent says evasively. 

_ And I also maybe had a sex dream about someone who isn’t you. And I might have a crush on that same person. Don’t be mad. _

Alyosha nods and passes him the puck. “Oh, okay, I’m understand. I hate that I can’t see you. You still can’t see me, right?”

“Nope, can’t see you,” Kent passes the puck back to him and watches as Alyosha’s shoulders slump.

…

The player the Aces trade Tater for is a guy called Swoops, and apparently Kent is a fucking duckling or some shit because he takes to the guy almost immediately.

Their friendship is nothing like his and Tater’s. For once, thank god, Kent has found a hockey friend who he doesn’t find attractive. Not that Swoops is hideous, just not for Kent. 

Besides, Swoops has already found his soulmate in the waking world. Isabel is a pretty brunette with a pixie cut and is getting her master’s in gender & sexuality studies. She tells Kent all about it the first time they meet at a dinner at Swoops’ place. 

At first, Kent thinks she’s telling him all this because she somehow  _ knows _ , but then Swoops says, “Baby, let the guy eat.”

And she laughs and says, “Thanks for indulging me, Kent. I get a little carried away sometimes.”

And honestly? Isabel is a badass because he can’t even say the words ‘I’m gay’ and here she is telling an almost stranger about her bisexuality and how it pushed her into researching the connection between soulmates and queerness.

And Swoops is cool, too, because he doesn’t change the subject completely. Instead he asks Kent if the Aces have had any You Can Play events recently, and Kent tells him not since he’s joined the team. And Swoops says with a smile, “We’re gonna have to fucking change that.”

They’re brave. That’s what Kent immediately likes about both of them.

He tells Tater all of this when they meet for dinner after their first game playing on different teams. Tater says, “You brave, too, Kenny.”

“Maybe,” Kent agrees. “But not like them.”

…

Even so, things begin to change for Kent.

The Aces season is going well, and Kent is performing well. He makes phone calls to his mom and sister, Annie, regularly now. Something he didn’t do his first year, and something, bless them, they do not hold against him.

“I’m just glad you’re talking to us now,” his mom tells him one Sunday over Skype. 

He flies back to New York for Christmas even though he only has a couple days off, and they spend two days in perfect holiday bliss. Drinking hot chocolate and _ The Grinch _ playing on repeat. 

“Last year you were the Grinch,” Annie tells him.

“If by that you mean that I rejected materialism and fostered a sense of joy, family, and community, then, yes, I was the Grinch.”

“No,” Annie says. “That is exactly not what I meant.”

Kent throws popcorn at her, and they watch the movie quietly for a few minutes. 

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” Annie says. “And I don’t want you to shut down like you usually do.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just—” Annie mutes the TV and shifts so that she fully faces Kent. Kent automatically does the same. “You know how I’ve been going to therapy for the last six months or so to process everything that happened with Dad?”

Their dad left them when they were both still kids. Something that hit Annie harder because she was younger when it happened. At twelve, Kent already knew who his father was. 

He did know that Annie had been working through it in therapy because Kent was the one who paid for it. It wasn’t even a question. Annie thought it would help her, and Kent found the best therapist in New York. 

“Yeah,” Kent tells her. “Is everything going alright?”

“Yes,” Annie says. “It’s helping a lot actually.”

“That’s great,” Kent says. “I’m really proud of you, Annie.”

How’s  _ that  _ for not shutting down.

“It’s just I think maybe you should consider going, too.”

Oh. Right.

“I’m not upset about dad the way you were—”

“I know,” Annie says. “Well, I’m actually not so sure how true that is, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Kent blinks at her. It is becoming increasingly more difficult not to shut down.

“It’s Jack, Kent.”

“What about him?”

“What happened to him was so scary.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better he’s coaching peewee and going to therapy himself. I don’t see the problem.”

Bob told him as much the last time they texted, months ago. Jack still won’t talk to him, and if it hasn’t stopped making Kent feel like he’s on fire, he’s at least gotten better at ignoring the feeling.

“It was scary  _ for you _ , Kent. What happened to Jack didn’t just happen to Jack. It happened to you, too. Just differently, and you deserve to have someone to talk to about it, to help you work through how you’re feeling.”

Kent doesn’t know what to say. If he’s being honest, there’s only a few people in his life who really know what happened that night. And he usually avoids talking about it with any of them.

“I think it could really help,” Annie says. 

And in the end, it isn’t such a hard decision. Annie thinks it could help. 

…

  
  


On Christmas night, Kent tells Alyosha he has a surprise for him.

“Finally admit I’m better hockey player?”

Kent laughs, “Never.”

He offers the sketchbook and pencil he dreamed for them over to Alyosha. “No, we’re going to draw self-portraits, so we at least have an idea of what the other looks like. Since we still can’t see each other and everything.”

Kent has thought about this a lot and has decided it’s a risk he’s willing to take. He’ll just draw his features a little out of order. He’s a shit artist, so it won’t be hard.

Alyosha says, “What if I draw myself too handsome, you not like real face?”

“I think you’re overestimating your drawing abilities.”

Alyosha laughs. It’s Kent’s favorite sound. 

“Just draw, Солнце.”

Twenty minutes later Kent shows Alyosha what he’s managed to accomplish. It’s only a step up from a stick figure, but it bears some likeness to his real face.

Alyosha takes the pad of paper from him and looks it over. He says, “Glad I get handsome soulmate who is talented artist, too.”

Kent shoves his shoulder, “Shut up man. Like yours is any better.”

“I’m wait to show you mine,” Alyosha says. “Once you can actually see my face.”

“Wow,” Kent says. “You either are really ugly or just shit at drawing.”

Alyosha laughs, “Hardly, just don’t want you feeling sad once you see handsome face in drawing, knowing that you can’t see me in real life.” 

“Whatever man,” Kent says. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Солнце.”

…

He dreams about Tater again. 

This time they’re in Kent’s bedroom in Vegas.

It’s all hands. All dirty words. 

Tater does something with his tongue that makes Kent feel like he’s coming undone.

In the morning, Kent wonders why this keeps happening and hopes Alyosha doesn’t mind that he missed him.

…

Things are changing. 

Kent’s therapist is named Marnie, and she tells him that when he’s feeling overwhelmed, it’s okay to take a step back. But never returning to the situation that scares him isn’t a good practice, especially if he’s leaving people there. She tells him she can help him work on his communication skills.

When he tells her about his soulmate, she asks if he has a support system, people he can talk to about his sexuality. Kent tells her about his mom and sister and about Tater, too.

A few sessions later, she suggests telling Swoops, and because he can’t think of a good reason not to do so, he does.

It’s a night in early March. They don’t have a game, but the Falconer’s are playing a team on the East coast, so Swoops comes over to watch. Isabel is at a conference in Texas, but Kent is sort of glad for it. He’s not sure he can do what he needs to do with two people staring at him. Better to start with just one.

Right at the end of the second period, Tater scores a goal and the camera finds him celebrating. There’s a wide grin across his face as he pumps his fist in the air. Tater was brave to come here, to play in America, to learn a new language and then have to move again, to a new home across the country. 

Kent is tired of feeling like he isn’t brave. 

“Swoops, I know this seems like a pretty random time to say this, but I just want to let you know my soulmate isn’t a woman,” Swoops looks over at him. “I’m gay.”

Swoops sets down his beer on the coffee table, “Thanks for telling me, man. Does the rest of the team know?”

“No,” Kent says. “Not anyone who’s still on the team.”

“Oh, okay,” Swoops considers this for a moment before shifting directions. “What’s your soulmate like?”

This catches Kent by surprise. 

“Oh, he’s—he’s the best. You know the way you act around Isabel?”

“Cool, suave? Sure.”

“I was going to say an embarrassing sap.”

“I’m going to ignore that.”

“My point is that’s the way I am around my soulmate. I’m completely gone for him.”

Swoops smiles, “I’m so happy for you man. What’s he look like?”

Kent frowns. 

“Oh my god he’s ugly, isn’t he?” Swoops asks. “Honestly, I can’t imagine you with an ugly soulmate, which doesn’t even make sense ‘cause you’re not much of a looker yourself.”

Kent shoves at him. 

“My soulmate is not ugly, you asshole.”

On the TV screen, a fight has started between the two teams. Tater is right in the middle of it. Something seizes in Kent’s chest, which is ridiculous. He’s seen Tater get in fights a million times.

“What’s he look like then?”

Tater skates out of the skirmish, helmet having been knocked off. He’s got a bloody lip and looks ferocious. It’s jarring to see. 

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

Kent can’t look at Swoops when he explains, “I mean I can’t see his face.”

“Are you fucking with me?”

“No.”

“You’ve been dreaming with this guy for what? Three, four years? And you can’t  _ see _ his face?”

“Do you think that’s bad?” Kent asks. “Do you think it means we’re not really soulmates?”

He doesn’t know where that question came. He’s never discussed this possibility with anyone, not even his therapist or Annie. 

“No, I think you’re soulmates,” Swoops sounds just a little like he’s trying to placate Kent. “But that’s pretty weird. Do you want me to ask Isabel about it? Maybe she’s come across it in her research?”

“No,” Kent says. “No that’s alright. I don’t really like people knowing I can’t see him.”

“Okay,” Swoops says. “Okay. But for the record, this means he really could be ugly.”

Kent hits him in the face with a throw pillow. “He’s not ugly.”

On the screen, Alexei wipes the blood from his face.

…

  
  


It’s All Star Weekend, and it’s the first time Kent has seen Tater in person since his second sex dream about him. This is much more unnerving than it was when he saw Tater after the first dream. The first dream he could write off as a fluke, but now it is on the verge of becoming a pattern.

They get drinks at the bar the first night, and when they see each other, Kent doesn’t have to feel weird about wanting to hug him because Tater immediately pulls him into his arms. 

He knows why  _ he _ is nervous to see Tater, but he has no idea why Tater seems to be nervous, too, as he orders their first round. 

The nerves don’t exactly go away after their first drink, but it gets easier to remember why their friends in the first place. Alexei is all optimism, all teasing. And Kent brings all the wit and eye rolling. 

He wonders for the first time if maybe this is flirting and then immediately dismisses it because Tater has a soulmate out there for him. 

Curiosity strikes him.

“How come you never talk about your soulmate?” Kent asks.

Tater pauses from where he was about to take another sip of his beer. “You not talk about your soulmate much either.”

“More than you,” Kent counters. “What is she like?”

Tater takes a long drink of his beer and then sets in front of him. “Very protective of soulmate. Keep private.”

Kent knocks their feet together under the table. “Just tell me  _ something _ . It doesn’t have to be big.”

Tater studies his face for a moment and then says, “In love with soulmate. Not sure how they feel.”

Kent can’t imagine someone not loving Alexei.

…

He nearly panics when he dreams about Tater again that night. 

They’re back at the bar only this time Kent is on the same side at Tater. A pleasant line of warmth runs up and down their bodies where they’re touching one another.

Kent can’t stand it.

“No,  _ no _ —” He stands up from the seat. In this dream, there is no one there although in real life the bar had been filled with dozens of other NHL players. “No. I have a soulmate. I have someone I love and I don’t know why my subconscious is fucking with me, but I’m tired of dreaming about you.”

Kent spends the next several moments to get back to the rink, to Alyosha, with no success.

“Kenny, let’s not,” Tater says. “Is okay—”

“Shut up,” Kent says. He sits in Tater’s lap in the next second. Tater’s hands grip his thighs. “Just shut—”

He kisses him, hard. 

…

The next day if anyone thinks Kent is a bit off in the competitions, they probably just assume he’s hungover. 

Alexei bumps softly into him. “Alright?” he asks. 

Kent ignores him.

It’s harder to ignore him, though, after the competitions when they’re all back at the hotel bar. Swoops pulls him into a booth with a couple of his buddies from the Falcs, including Tater. 

Tater and Swoops squish Kent between them, shoulders jostling together any time someone tells a joke, which is a lot because there’s some Russian guy (a kid that bounced around the minor league for a while before being pulled up by the Falconers) who cracks everybody up.

Kent smiles along.

“You very quiet, Kenny,” Tater murmurs into his ear.

Kent resists the urge to shudder at the feeling of his breath, “Just not feeling very talkative tonight.”

“I’m buy you a drink?” he asks.

“Already got a drink, Tater,” he raises the beer to his lips.

Their eyes connect.

The laughter from the rest of the table pulls them away. 

“Hey, Alyosha, what did Sonny say last week?” the Russian guy asks. Kent’s entire body freezes.

He feels Tater do the same.

“What did you just call him?” Kent asks.

The kid smiles, “Sorry, is Tater’s Russian—Alyosha, how you say?”

“Nickname,” Tater supplies.

Kent’s heart nearly bursts out of his chest, so he takes a deep breath and asks, “Is that—”

He turns towards Tater, “Is it a common nickname?”

Their faces are inches away from each other. Kent feels Alexei’s breath on his cheeks, just as real as in all of his dreams.

“Солнце.”

Kent closes his eyes at the name. Only one person in the entire world calls him that. 

“Fuck,” Kent says and he pushes at Alexei, who gets the hint and slides from the booth so Kent can stand. 

“Kent?” Swoops questions. He looks between Kent and Tater. Kent sees the moment when it clicks for him. “Holy shit—”

“I have to go,” Kent says.

“Kenny, wait,” Tater catches his hand.

Kent tugs away from the grip and practically runs out of the bar. Alexei catches him as Kent’s climbing onto the elevator, putting his hand out to stop the door. “Kenny, let’s talk please.”

“How long have you known?” Kent shoots back.

Alexei’s face falls. “Your hockey is beautiful. Notice it those first few months playing with you. Think maybe, but not know for sure until after loss to the Kings.”

“You’ve known for so long,” Kent jams his hands into pocket.

“Want to tell you but think ‘he can’t see me, don’t want to scare.’”

“So you just let me walk around like—like some kind of idiot?”

“Not idiot, I was trying to protect you.”

“What about all those other nights,” and he feels himself flush. He did many many things in those dreams he would never do in real life. 

Alexei ducks his head, running a hand through his hair, and when he looks back at Kent again his face is flushed, too. 

“Should have told you then. Am sorry. So sorry.”

“It’s—you—please let me go. I need to be alone.”

Alexei’s face falls even more, but he steps away from the door. As soon as the doors are shut, Kent sinks to the ground. Holy shit.

…

He dreams they’re at the hockey rink. Only tonight there is a golden glow to it, where usually the space would be filled with fluorescent lights. 

He can see Alyosha’s face.

Alyosha holds all of his nervousness in his eyebrows. All his joy in his eyes. All his passion in his mouth. All his worry in his cheeks.

These are just a few things Kent has noticed about Alexei Mashkov’s face since knowing him.

They are all on display now.

“Not think you show,” Alyosha says.

For a moment, the only sound is of Kent’s skates scraping against the ice as he moves closer. 

“I didn’t either at first. I’m still sort of mad, and even more so embarrassed,” he swallows the hard feeling in the back of his throat. “And maybe just a little bit ashamed because I don’t know why I couldn’t see your face.”

“Is okay,” Alyosha says. He moves tentatively towards Kent. “Just glad you didn't stay away.”

“I might have stayed away,” Kent says. “I might have, a year ago. I’ve done it before.”

“I’m knowing this,” Alyosha can’t hide his forgiveness on his face; it shows up everywhere.

“I know you do,” Kent says. “And I remembered. I remembered I promised that if I ever disappeared on you that I would come back.”

Alyosha smiles, “you make this promise, yes.”

“So,” Kent spreads his arms wide open. “I’m here.”

“You’re here.”

“I’m here.”

Alyosha pulls Kent into his arms. A grin is splashed across his face. Kent smiles helplessly back at him.

“I’m kiss you now. You always grabbing me. Kissing me—” A smirk ghosts across Alyosha’s face. “I’m kiss you now.”

Kent beats him to it. 

“No fair,” Alyosha says when they pull away. His face is as bright as the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> I did some googling and, yes, I know all stars weekend is usually in January, but this is my fanfic and I make the rules here!!!
> 
> If you liked this fic, please let me know! It's how I know if I should keep writing more :)
> 
> Translations: 
> 
> Please keep in mind that I am literally just plopping English phrases into google translate, so these are no doubt not perfect Russian at all.
> 
> Что вы говорите? = What are you saying?
> 
> Вы недовольны? = You are unhappy?
> 
> Я тебя не вижу. = I can’t see you.
> 
> Простите, что не так? = I’m sorry, what is wrong?
> 
> Любовь = love
> 
> Солнце = sun 
> 
> Блядь = fuck
> 
> я скучал по тебе = I missed you
> 
> я буду скучать по тебе = I will miss you


End file.
